Mrs Harts Ache Ch 10

This is the nineteenth installment of

Mrs. Hart's Ache

Chapter X Operation Tinkerbelle

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Author's note: see the Index of Terms for the definition of any word with which you are not familiar.

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This is a simple tale of retribution, wherein the young hero teaches the mother of his newest girlfriend a few manners while enjoying a few adventures – sexual and otherwise – along the way.

James Mark Masterson.

Just your typical teenager. Smart… sexy… sophisticated… and always horny. With the time and bank to do pretty much what he wants to do.

And to do who he wants to do.

The first one is always the hardest; that's what they say.

In this case, taking down Wendy is going to be major tough – it will have to be done publicly – and relatively easy – Wendy has attitude, but she's no rock.

Maybe…

They think…

James and the gang are hopeful…

Oh hell, they don't know. It could get major bloody right out there for everyone to see…

But it's the surest and fastest way to get the attention of the real bad guys, Lydia and Marco. So get your worry beads and let's find out…

Happy Reading.

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X Operation Tinkerbelle

"…As a lady once said, Que sera, sera…"

Cassandra and I were finishing breakfast on the terrace of our room when the hotel phone rang. It was precisely 8:30.

After the meeting at Gwendolyn's, we had taken a suite at one of the five star hotels downtown. The place was sited a block from the offices of the magazine. No coincidence.

For the first time in our relationship, Cassandra and I made long slow love. We took our time, two or three hours anyway. Nothing heavy. No bondage or straps. No one was tied down. Just two people exploring each other's bodies. The first time, she was on top; the second, I was. Then we fell asleep entwined. It was heavenly.

My heart jumped, but my hand was steady as I put it on the receiver. I winked at Cassandra. She gave me a brave smile as I answered the third ring. It was Wendy, of course. Her voice quavered a bit as she quietly announced that she was in the lobby as instructed.

I invited her up to our rooms, or if she would prefer, we could meet in the hotel café bordering the pool. She was silent for a few seconds. Perhaps she was surprised to be offered the choice. Hesitantly, she said that she would prefer to meet in the café. There was a catch in her voice. She was worried. Good.

My eyes twinkled as I handed Cassandra a ten dollar bill. I told Wendy to order coffee for three. We would join her in five minutes. Then replaced the receiver without waiting for her acknowledgement.

We had bet on her choice. I'd figured the room, for privacy. Cassandra was adamant that Wendy would feel safer in public.

Cassandra and I stood up together. She came into my arms for a kiss, then took my hand and led the way to the elevator. I had the laptop tucked under my arm.

We were both dressed casually. She in some of those girl clothes she dislikes so intensely: a dark blue belted mini-dress with a shirt collar and short sleeves. Of soft, stone-washed denim, it had a large chrome zipper with dual slides, running from the neckline to the hem. The dress was zipped down to display more than a hint of her breasts and up from the hem to high thigh.

Beneath she wore a sexy little black lace thong, a matching demi-bra, sheer silk thigh-highs and a pair of 'fuck me' sandals with three inch heels. Her dress showed no lines, though her nipples embossed the bodice.

I'd picked the outfit. She hated it, so I knew her panties were damp too. With makeup applied sparingly and blond hair brushed out, she looked like a wet dream.

I was fashionable in a pair of khaki Dockers, boat shoes with no socks and a crinkle shirt, white with banded collar. The sleeves were rolled to my forearms. I purposely hadn't shaved. With Cassandra on my arm and a day-old beard, I looked a few years older than usual. Certainly much older than the eighteen years that I could rightfully claim.

The only sounds were the muted hum of the elevator and, of all things, the muzak version of '

Sympathy for the Devil

'. I wondered in passing what Mick would think; then whether it was some kind of omen.

A young guy dressed as a 'suit' got on a couple floors down. He pressed the 'Lobby' button as though it was not already lit. Probably a salesman of some sort. His suit was off the rack, but flashy. Cut in the latest style. Powder blue shirt, power tie, the whole bit. A real legend, at least in his own Living Room.

He leaned back against the wall and started giving Cassandra the look. He ignored me. I ignored him. But I could tell, Cassandra was pissed. That's one reason she hates wearing 'girl' clothes: she can't stand the looks she gets from guys. You know, the '

Geez she'd look good naked on her knees with my cock in her mouth

' looks.

Halfway down she began brushing her nipple absently. Just her fingertips. Then she pinched it, making it stand up tall. The guy shifted, as though something was suddenly too tight somewhere in the middle.

Cassandra wet her lips slowly, then pinched her other nipple. Hard. It too stood up, embossing the denim of her dress. She brushed her fingertips along her thigh. The guy was going nuts. She absently played with the zipper between her proud breasts, slipping it down a couple of inches, displaying the lacy edge of her bra and the barest hint of her aureole. The guy was almost panting, wholly intent upon her chest. He wasn't prepared and almost fell when the car abruptly slowed at the lobby. Just as the doors were opening, Cassandra turned to him.

"Do you like what you see?" She whispered in a sexy purr.

He tried to answer, but could only nod, his mouth dry.

She lifted her other hand, which was clasped in mine.

"Too fucking bad, dipstick." She said in that same sexy voice. "I'm with him…" She kissed the back of my hand. "…and he's got something

you

will never have... Me."

He looked like he'd been hammered. A flush crept down his neck. He started to get pissed.

"By the way, Homer." Cassandra murmured as we started through the door. "You better clean up before you make that sales call. You've got a major spot."

The flush was full across his face as he looked down. A wet spot about the size of a quarter was centered over the bulge in his slacks, just about where the head of his pecker lay.

He jabbed the button to go up again. As the doors closed he finally found his voice.

"Fucking bit – " The elevator doors closed on his reply.

Cassandra! You go girl! You bad!

Still annoyed, she glanced at me. I grinned.

"Cassandra," I admonished. "If you didn't want 'dipstick' to look, you shouldn't have worn such a sexy dress."

She made a face. I laughed.

That encounter certainly put her in the right mood for our tête à tête with little Wendy.

We spotted our target at a table along the rail, her back to the pool. She was dressed for work: a business suit of silver herringbone showing plenty of leg; white shell, sheer white stockings and four inch heels with platform soles. The girl either sat most of the time at work, or chose to pay the price for the additional altitude. I was betting the later.

At that time of day, the business people were either long gone, or having breakfast meetings inside. A few tourists and/or businessmen's wife types sat taking their morning coffee in the late spring sun, but the poolside café was largely empty. One young mother had two small children splashing in the shallow end of the pool. She may have been their nanny. Nice bikini. No scars on her tanned tummy. Yummy little tits.

Wendy's face was pale beneath her tan, her eyes were wide. Frightened. Her gaze slid over us to the lobby door, then centered as we neared her table. She looked puzzled for a moment. We didn't fit her image of the 'bad guys' at all.

Wendy had been preparing herself for the Terminator. She'd gotten Chandler and Monica instead.

I laid the laptop on the table, then held the chair for Cassandra beside Wendy. I took the seat directly opposite. Wendy was between us. She shifted uncomfortably. As I sat, the waitress appeared with a carafe of coffee and three bone cup and saucer sets.

"She will take a half cup please." I said gesturing toward Wendy. "You can fill ours though."

Wendy was wound so tight, she'd spill anything over that. The ladies remained silent as she served.

I signed the tab with the room number, slipped her a twenty. "That's all thanks." I said politely. "We'll let you know if we need anything more." The twenty disappeared. Still smiling, she nodded then moved away.

Good waitress. Nice legs. Very nice butt. Her snug black skirt outlined a high, tight, very pet-able ass. No lines showing. She had her graceful swaying walk down pat. I'd bet the business drones tipped well after seeing it.

Time out.

I know, I know, but I can't help it: I'm a guy; it's integral to the 'Y' chromosome. 'Dipstick' and I have that in common. Except I usually don't let it show on my face.

Time in.

I sipped mine – light cream (fresh), no sugar; Blue Mountain, very good coffee – as I looked over the rim at Wendy.

Her eyes were very wide. Her face was very pale beneath her tan. She was taut, near breaking. This would either be very easy, or it would burst in our faces. If that happened, things could get bloody in a hurry. It was time to calm her down. Then we would make her sweat again.

"This is Cassandra. My name is James." Isaid in a friendly, encouraging voice as I reached out to shake her hand.

Wendy looked at it for a few seconds as if it was a snake poised to strike, then took it. Her palm was damp. We shook, once quickly; me firmly, she weakly. She had yet to say a word.

When I released her hand, she snatched it back to take a deathgrip on the cloth napkin in her lap. Cassandra sat back glowering with her arms crossed beneath her breasts. Wendy took one look out of the corner of her eyes, and decided not to make the attempt. Wise of her.

"Thank you for being on time, Wendy." I said politely. "We very much appreciate your assistance this morning."

I took another sip of coffee, waiting for a reaction. She managed to take a sip of hers without spilling it. The cup rattled against the saucer when she set it down. She just looked at me, waiting.

Okay, to business.

"Just so you fully understand," I said in the same calm voice. "We are shutting down the entire operation. As of this moment, it is over. Gone. Toast. We know about the cocaine. We know about the parties. We know about Summer May Mathews…"

Wendy started at the name. The whites of her eyes flashed.

"… We know things that you don't know, things that Marco and Lydia have done, and other things they're planning. There are no secrets anymore. We are shutting it all down. Period."

Wendy began nodding as I ticked off the points, following the rhythm of my voice. She was agreeing with me. Maybe unconsciously, but she was agreeing.

I smiled at her and poured a bit more coffee in her cup, then filled mine and added cream. Cassandra hadn't touched hers.

I looked at Wendy again. She was relaxing a bit. This was much more calm and civilized than the scene she had been expecting. It was time to shake her up.

"We have no real interest in hurting you." I continued confidingly. "If you choose –

you

choose – we will go with you to the police where you will confess to smuggling drugs, and explain your part in the rape and accidental overdose of Summer May Mathews."

Wendy was looking real nervous again. That napkin would never be the same.

"If you turn state's evidence," I mused. "you will probably get off lightly. Maybe two or three years in prison. Maybe less. Of course, your accomplices…"

'…and their suppliers, the heavies down south…'

Cassandra added ominously.

"…will be pissed, and maybe…"

'…definitely…'

"…out for…"

'…out for your cute little ass sweetmeat!…'

"…But them's the breaks…"

'…when you play with the big boys!'

Cassandra finished hissing, her eyes hard.

Wendy's head was whipping back and forth as we talked. She started to look hopeful until I got to the part about jail time. Then that haunted look appeared again. Cassandra's asides caused her lips to begin quivering. The cloth napkin was twisting her hands, threatening to shred.

Before the tears gathering in Wendy's eyes could fall, I added the big Or.

"Or…" I added reasonably. "…you can assist us in punishing your accomplices…"

'…Your boyfriend Marco and that slut Lydia. What is it you call her? 'Fat Ass'? I bet she'd love to hear

that

tape...'

"…that way, nobody goes to jail. Nobody gets hurt…"

'…not permanently anyway: nobody goes to prison. Nobody dies!…'

"…instead, we'll handle the punishment in our own way."

Almost dizzy from trying to follow our whipsaw conversation, Wendy tried to take a sip of coffee. She was trembling so severely, the cup clattered on the saucer. She did begin to look a tiny bit hopeful again, as though maybe she could get out of the whole mess with her 'cute little ass' intact.

Cassandra took up the conversation directly.

"Listen Tinkerbelle," she said sarcastically. "Don't get cocky. Your ass isn't covered just yet. You've got at least a taste of it coming, and I'm going to make certain you get it. Summer deserves that much at least."

"Be thankful you won't, say spend the next few weeks in a coma, or have to live with the memory of a brutal rape. You may not get it quite as hard as those other two assholes…" Cassandra pointed to me. "…James here will protect you from that. But that 'cute little ass' of yours is going to feel

something

before it's over! I'll make certain of that."

Cassandra dismissively. "And If you help us take out Marco and Lydia, at least you won't be sharing a cell for a few years with Big Beullah and her trusty sidekick, Strap-On."

That spooked look was back on Wendy's again.

That Cassandra was acting the heavy rather than me, was her idea. She was right. Wendy had expected the opposite. I was the man, Cassandra the woman.

In her world, the guys were the heavys. The women were the sympathizers; the empathizers; the victims. We had her twirling in her seat.

Cassandra held her palm out to Wendy. She looked puzzled for a moment, then jumped for her purse and furtively slipped the disc and note I'd sent her into Cassandra's hand.

She loaded the disc into the drive, put the cursor on the icon, then turned the screen to face Wendy. Her finger was poised on the mouse key.

"Watch this one more time." Cassandra told her. "You've got until the end of it to decide. Either you help us, or we put your ass in jail and do it ourselves. Then I wouldn't feel bad at all putting the word on the street that you gave it up. That way everyone is after that 'cute little ass': the two assholes, the heavies down south and the cops. Jesus, the big girls in the cell blocks are going to have a field day with you."

Then Cassandra stabbed the scroll pad and sat back. Her eyes were glittering. Her smile cold. Wendy trembled, on the verge of complete collapse.

She shivered through the entire presentation. It took about five minutes to run. I doubt that she grasped five seconds of it. We could see the wheel spinning in her head. Mostly the answer came up 'Double Aught, You Lose'.

Her eyes were brimming when the screen blanked. She finally looked up to us, but couldn't speak. Her coffee was cold. Cassandra and I had finished ours.

Chandler was still there, but Monica had morphed into Terminator TX. I almost felt sorry for the little twit. But my sympathies rested firmly with Summer May Mathews.

We looked her over for a moment, waiting, then I spoke.

"One very good thing comes out of this for you Wendy." I said gently. "We get you out of the middle of the drug operation. Whether you get it or not, you're vulnerable."

Wendy looked puzzled.

"You are the cutout between Marco and the girls transporting the shit. If a girl gets busted…"

'…when a girl gets busted – it's gonna happen sooner or later…'

"…and you are suddenly 'gone', there's no link to Marco is there?…" I let the question hang.

We could tell that Wendy hadn't thought that one through. She looked more startled than spooked. Then she looked just plain spooked. She knew Marco.

Cassandra gave Wendy a withering look. "Make your choice Tinkerbelle, which is it to be: A) go to the cops, or B) help us take Marco and Lydia down. You're out of time, choose!"

It's the first time I've actually heard a person gulp. I mean, you see it on the cartoons, or read it in the comics. But to hear it almost made me laugh. Almost.

I kept a straight face and poured more coffee for Cassandra and I as Wendy chose.

"I – I'll help y-you." She stuttered in a hoarse whisper.

I was proud of myself. I didn't spill a drop. My hand was steady as I set the carafe on the table. Operation Tinkerbelle looked to be a success. One down.

Cassandra nodded once dismissively, as though she had expected that answer. She gave Wendy a brief look, then went through the checklist we'd prepared:

 Did you tell people at work that you were sick as instructed? –

Y-yes

 Do you need a doctor's note, or any proof that you've been ill when you return to work? –

N-no, Mrs Hart is going out of town for t-ten days. She told me to take the rest of the week off. No one else c-cares.

 Do you have any appointments, or are you expected to be anywhere or see anyone tonight? –

No. I had a d-date, but I c-cancelled…

 Did you tell anyone you were meeting us this morning? –

No! God no! You told me not to, or I'd go to j-jail!

 Did you show or did anyone else see the contents of this disc? –

No way! A-after I read the l-letter. I played the disc, then came straight here. I'm obviously s-stupid, but I'm not crazy!

 So neither Lydia, nor Marco have any idea that this disc exists? –

God no! Do ya think I'd be here if they did?

 Do you have a roommate or anyone at home who will be looking for you? –

N-no. I have my own apartment.

 Did you drive to the meeting as instructed? –

Y-yes, I used the valet p-parking service.

 Do you have pets? –

No.

(The question puzzled Wendy, but we didn't want her cat to go hungry. She had no idea, but she'd be away for at least a week, maybe two.)  Do you wish to accompany us? –

Y-yes?

Wendy was very puzzled by that one too, but it might be the question necessary to save us from a Kidnapping charge. That's Federal, as in, the FBI comes after your ass. No thanks!

Cassandra looked stared into Wendy's eyes for a moment longer, then looked to me and nodded reluctantly.

We knew that Wendy would be missed after a couple of days, but once we had her secure, we planned to either have her call, or call the magazine on her behalf to say that she would be out for a couple of weeks due to a family emergency.

Wendy sat trembling for a minute, then asked a few questions of her own. Just what you'd expect, like "Who are you? How did you know? Where'd you get the stuff on that disc?"

I sipped my coffee silently, measuring Wendy over the cup for a few seconds, then put the cup down.

"Wendy, all you have to know right now is that I am your best friend in the world. Just follow my instructions, and I promise that you will come out of this mess with – how did Cassandra put it? – with your 'cute little ass' intact."

I took a sip of coffee while she assimilated that, then continued.

"As Cassandra said, I'll protect you. You won't be permanently damaged in any way.

She was frightened half-way out of her mind at that point. To calm her a bit, at least until we could get her to a more private place I reassured her.